


Closer

by clotpoleofthelord (plantainleaf)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean/Benny Big Bang 2014, M/M, Other, Purgatory, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2014-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-15 16:52:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1312222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plantainleaf/pseuds/clotpoleofthelord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Purgatory, it's hard to hold on to your humanity. Dean isn't sure how a vampire and an angel manage to keep him sane, but he's not complaining.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Closer

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to Kristin/tamryneradani and Jess/deanhugchester for betaing (and cheerleading) this, lostemotion for the awesome artwork, and to Deb/starfrak for running the DBBB! Chunks of dialogue taken directly from the show, so those aren't mine. Title from the Nine Inch Nails song (which in my weird brain is Purgatory and Dean's fucked up love song).
> 
> A DeanBenny Big Bang 2014 minibang!

“Wake up.”

Dean’s eyes blink open and he groans.

The lab is gone. So is Dick.

Cas is crouching over him, still small-looking in the scrubs, but there’s a focus in his eyes that’s been missing for too long.

He sits up, glancing around at the forest that’s suddenly all around them. “Where are we?”

Cas’s eyes narrow, suspicious. “You don’t know?”

“Last I remember, we ganked Dick,” Dean replies, wincing as sore muscles complain.

“And where would he go in death?”

 _Shit._ “Wait. Are you telling me–”

“Every soul here is a monster.” Cas glances around as leaves rustle ominously. “This is where they come to prey upon each other for all eternity.”

“We’re in _Purgatory_? How do we get out?”

Cas’s eyes are calm, serious, and terrifyingly sane. “I’m afraid we’re much more likely to be ripped to shreds.”

There’s a glow in the woods, coming from shadows considerably larger than humans, and Dean feels his hands clench into fists as he readies himself for a fight. “Cas,” he says, turning, “I think we better–”

The clearing is empty. He spins around, three hundred and sixty, but all he sees are glowing eyes and dark shapes, swaying slightly.

“Cas?” 

There’s no reply.

That’s when the first shape rushes him, silent and swift through the darkness.

“Cas!” He yells as he punches it in what passes for its face. “ _CAS!”_

***

There’s no _daytime_ , in Purgatory. Not really.

There’s darkness, and there’s dimness, and every once in a while there’s enough light that Dean can see clearly. There’s never a light source, no sun or moon or stars, and it doesn’t seem to be on any sort of repeating cycle.

But then again, he’s been here for days, or weeks, or months, maybe, and he never seems to need food or water and he rarely needs to sleep. He _wants_ it all, craves it, but it never gets beyond that, never makes him _weak._ Any food or drink he came across in Purgatory he wouldn’t trust anyway, even if he found a pie and a burger on a pristine table. And sleep? He can’t imagine feeling safe enough for that. Not here. Instead, he climbs trees or finds caves when the need gets to be too much and dozes fitfully, always half-aware.

He takes to humming in the slow moments, just to keep from going too crazy. _Led Zeppelin II_ is forty one and a half minutes long. _Houses of the Holy_ ’s just a minute less. He counts the days by familiar melodies and tries to keep track, somehow, of _when_ he is. He heard somewhere, maybe some Discovery Channel bullshit Samhad on, that humans are the only animals aware of time. So he counts the days out, slow and steady, trying to keep a grip on some kind of context for his being

He’s not sure if keeping track, keeping himself aware, makes it better, or worse.

Zeppelin’s _Complete Studio Recordings_ is seven and a half hours long.

Somehow the days when he hits that time marker are the hardest.

Dean’s spent plenty of time alone, sure. When Sam went to Stanford, he’d gone on hunts alone all over the country. But there’d always been _people_. Even if he didn’t know them, or talk to them, they’d still be _there,_ familiar and smiling and _human._ And there was always Sam, somewhere out in California. He could always drive out to Stanford and idle outside his dorm, seeing his brother’s life from a hundred yards away and know he was happy, healthy and safe. And there was always Dad, solid, firm and distant.

And if he has to admit it (and let’s face it, in between attacks and chases he’s got a lot of time to fill), he misses _people_. He misses Sam like a phantom limb, a solid, aching loss a world away. He misses Bobby fiercely, painfully. There’s still the deep pain, old and familiar, of his father, of his _mother_.

And then there’s Cas.

Cas, who disappeared almost as soon as they landed. Cas, who could be anywhere in Purgatory, Heaven, Earth or Hell. Cas, who could be _dead_.

He tries not to think about that.

But _people._ He misses casual conversations, even just eye contact and nods and the brush of fingers when a waitress hands over change or a librarian passes a book. He misses smiles that aren’t lined with danger and he misses the possibilities a chance encounter jump-starts. There’s nobody to flirt with in Purgatory– at least, nobody who you want to have flirt _back._

There’s– well, there’s almost people. There’s _things._

He hunts them here, just like he did above ground. It’s almost enough to keep him from losing it completely. He can pretend, for a moment, bantering with them, teasing them. He can pretend he’s a normal person, having a conversation.

Of course, that only lasts as long as it takes for him to cut their head off, or stab them through the heart, or whatever he needs to do to get them off his trail. 

He’s not sure if the fact that every conversation ends in blood makes it better, or worse.

Word must get around, somehow.

He’s pretty sure everything he kills comes back. Not right away, of course. But either the faces are blurring together, or he’s seeing  the same ones every once in a while.

***

It’s a vamp that first gives him a hint.

He’s got it backed against a wall, his crude knife in hand as he approaches, when it throws up a hand.

“Wait!” it says, voice shaking. 

He freezes, eyes narrowing.

“You’re not the only thing that shouldn’t be here.” It swallows, eyes flicking to the side. “I can tell you where he is, if you let me go.”

“Where who is?” Dean’s patience is wearing thin.

“The one who came when you did.”

Dean’s eyes fly open. “Cas?” He presses the blade to the vampire’s throat. “Talk.”

“He’s– he’s down the mountain,” babbles the vampire. “Down, down, down in the valley.”

“Where?” demands Dean. “ _Where_ in the valley?”

“I– I don’t know, I swear!”

“Did you _see_ him?”

“No! No, I just– I hear things! They said–”

There’s a crackle behind him and Dean spins, pivoting back. There’s a second creature, this one big and hairy and _fuck_ , how the hell do you kill a wendigo when everything’s damp and you’ve only got a lighter?

The vamp takes off as Dean swings his blade, chopping through the wendigo’s neck. _That’ll slow it down,_ he thinks, and takes off after the vampire. But he’s nowhere to be found, disappeared into the dark forest that’s getting darker by the minute.

Dean swears, a tight feeling in his chest. _Cas is here,_ he thinks, distantly, _Cas is alive, and he’s here._

 _So why the fuck is he not_ here _?_

***

He gets better at getting information out of them. He’s always been good at this, even before Hell and Alastair. Always been good at seeing monsters as obstacles, the enemy, information he hasn’t extracted yet.

He tries not to think of Gordon, who’s down here somewhere. Tries not to remember Lenore, who’s probably here too by now.

He tries not to think about the differences between them. Not here.

They’ve all heard of him, eventually. He starts getting almost _fans_ , monsters who’ve heard stories of him, who know who he is.

Good. They should know who he is. They should know to watch out for him.

The first one’s another vamp. It’s fucking ridiculous how many there are out there, but he guesses since it’s so easy to make new ones there have gotta be plenty in here. This one’s old, in stupid fucking ruffles and buckled shoes. Sammy would probably geek out over the real-life ancient history, but Dean? Dean just slices his head off with his own axe-knife-machete when he realizes the dude doesn’t know anything helpful about Cas.

He’s still pissed off, stalking through the woods minutes later, and that might be how the crazy fucking thing gets the jump on him. It’s nuts, rabid or some shit. Foaming at the mouth as it presses him to the ground. He’s so close to reaching the weapon, fingers scrabbling at the dirt, but the teeth are getting closer and closer and he’s calling for Cas inside his mind when a heavy shape crashes into his attacker and knocks it to the ground.

He scrambles to his feet just as the new guy slices the thing’s head off, wary, keeping his distance.

“What,” says the guy, teeth retracting, chest heaving as he stands over the corpse, “no thanks for saving your hide?”

Dean gives a humorless huff of laughter, hefting his weapon. “I won’t shove this up your ass.”

“Awful strange way to punch your mealticket, friend,” he drawls, as he and Dean circle. “I got something you need.”

“Yeah?” replies Dean, “and what’s that?”

“A way out.” There’s something in his voice, something warm and comfortable and Dean fights the urge to let his guard down, relax. 

 _What the fuck?_ he thinks. _Just because he helped me out doesn’t mean he ain’t the enemy_. He forces a laugh. “Even a dental apocalypse like you knows there’s no such thing.”

“There is if you’re human.” The vamp hasn’t broken eye contact yet, and they’re still circling. “God has made it so. Least that’s the rumor.”

“Bull.”

“Suit yourself.” He smirks. “Maybe you don’t need it. Maybe you _like_ being man-meat for every Tom, Dick and Harry.”

“Prove it,” says Dean, fighting the need to _believe it_ , to trust, to imagine that there’s a way back to Earth and to Sam and out of this shithole.

“Nah,” says the vamp, casual, almost warmly. “You’re either in, or you’re out.”

“So you just wanna guide me outta Purgatory out of the goodness of your heart?”

He grins, showing human teeth, white and even, no sign of the fangs Dean had seen moments ago. “More or less.” 

“What’s in it for you?”

“I’m hoppin’ a ride,” he says, easy.

“What?” 

“It’s a human portal, jackass. Only humans can pass through. I show you the door, you hump my soul to the other side.”

Dean snorts. “So you’re looking for a soul train.”

“Sure,” his voice is amused, slow, agreeable. “If that’s what you’re into.”

“How do I know this isn’t a setup? How do I know I’m not gonna end up like your friend here?”

The vamp smirks. “He was my friend.” He spreads his arms, loose and relaxed. “Now you are.” He shakes his head. “First rule of Purgatory, kid. You can’t trust _nobody_.”

“You just asked me to trust you!”

“You see? You’re gettin’ it now.”

 _What the hell_ , Dean thinks. _It’s a better shot than I got on my own._ He nods tersely. “First we find the angel.”

He looks away. “Mmm, three’s a crowd, chief.”

“Well, hey, either you’re in,” Dean smirks and steps closer, resting his weapon across his shoulder, “Or you’re out.”

The smile’s back on the vampire’s face, cool calculation in his eyes. “Well, guess, I got no choice, then.” He passes his own weapon, a brutal-looking blade on a polished wooden handle, to his left hand and holds out his right. “Benny.”

Dean takes it warily. “Dean.” Benny’s grip is firm and warm, and Dean feels something empty fill up at the touch of what’s almost a human hand.

***

Purgatory’s different with Benny. It’s not just that he knows the lay of the land, or the best way to kill a rugaru or to dodge a leviathan or to cover their trail from supernatural trackers. It’s not even that he’s a constant presence in a fight, at Dean’s back to support and defend. 

No, it’s more than that.

It’s slow smiles and soft laughs, drawled jokes and directions and veiled hints at a history much longer than Dean’d first thought.

Benny’s been here a while, sounds like. Dean probably could have guessed that, by the suspenders and oddly cut clothes, but the world Benny talks about leaving, when he talks about it at all, is one of horses and riverboats, hoop skirts and debutantes, swamp huts and crawfish. He still thinks the telephone’s a new invention, something he’s got no use for, and he’s actually bought ice in those big-ass blocks you see in history books.

But they get each other. They’re both warriors, maybe monsters, something like human. And they’re both fighting to find a way home.

But first, they gotta find Cas.

He’s pretty sure it’s gonna be easier, with two of them. Benny can find ‘em, hold ‘em down, watch them squirm while Dean works his mojo to get them to talk. They’re a team, well-oiled, working together to achieve their goals.

And they make progress. Each monster they kill has a tidbit, something to help them on their way. Sometimes it’s small, like _I heard he’s still alive_. Or sometimes it’s bigger, like _he’s sticking to the treeline._

Sometimes Dean lets them go, if they’ve given him enough. With two, he’s got that luxury. Between him and Benny, there’s not much that can threaten them.

Benny just watches him, most of the time he’s asking things about the angel. Watches him, watches his prey, and lets that slow, secret smile spread across his face.

***

“So you and that angel,” he murmurs one day or night or whatever. They’re close together, sides pressed against each other in a cave, waiting out a cloudburst that seems to be going on forever.

“Me and that angel what?” asks Dean, eyes still fixed on the trees. He’s pretty sure something’s moving out there, something that’s not wind or rain.

“You been lookin’ for him a while,” Benny’s voice is neutral. “I’m just wondering why, exactly.” He snorts. “‘Less times’ve changed enough that angels and humans are back on speaking terms.”

Dean lets out a bark of laughter. “No, definitely not. They’re all still dicks with wings.”

“Even your Cas?”

“Except Cas.” Dean’s voice is sharp, cutting the conversation off.

Benny watches him for a moment, then shrugs, dropping the subject. “Rain’s clearing up. We best get moving.”

Dean nods and follows him deeper into the forest.

There’s a little path, almost a game trail, that they’re following. Dean wonders what made it, or if it’s just part of the forest pattern that got pasted down when Purgatory was created.

Or at least, that’s what he imagines happened. 

Purgatory’s just a little younger than Earth, and it’s not made of quite the same stuff, as far as Dean can tell. The rules are different, and so’s the feeling.

He wonders if it’s even really a forest, or if that’s just the way his mind sees it. Like Heaven, or Hell, maybe every mind processes it differently.

 _I never used to think things through this much_ , he thinks, shaking his head. 

Benny’s good company. He’s quiet most of the time, except when he’s got advice or direction for Dean, or in a fight when he sometimes starts whistling eerie tunes. Every once in a while, he’ll drop a tidbit of information, about his life or his background before Purgatory.

Dean hoards these. He hoards them like water in a desert, these little scraps of humanity, of connection. He tries not to think about the fact that it took a vampire to make him start feeling human again.

But as the hours, days, nights, whatever go by, _conversation_ starts to happen.

He learns Benny’s from Louisiana, that he was turned way back around the turn of the last century. He finds out Benny’s got descendents, and isn’t that fucking weird.

And he hears about Andrea, the woman who turned him from his vamp lifestyle back to something almost human.

Dean thinks he can relate.

In return, he shares a couple stories about hunting, and Sammy, and eventually Cas. There’s a lot of hours to fill, hiking across the realm of Purgatory, following the angel’s winding trail. It’s inevitable that they’d start to get to know each other, at least a little.

The subject of Purgatory’s composition comes up eventually. Dean’s been thinking about it a lot. He’s noticed things that aren’t quite right, not for what he would expect in a forest like this. There are branches that dangle down, that move aside like they’re flexible, soft when Benny’s hand brushes them aside. And he could have sworn he saw a tree shift a foot to the left to get in their way. Things that are firm, unyielding to his hands are flexible, tangled to Benny’s.

“Hey.” he says quietly, leaning forward and whispering. It’s another of the dark periods, dim glow of purgatory barely illuminating their faces. It’s never totally dark here. They’re crouched behind a pile of rocks, taking a breather before the next leg of their journey.

“Hey what,” replies Benny, turning towards him. Dean can’t help but lean in. It’s amazing how addictive the warmth of another body is.

“What do you see, when you look around this place?”

Benny narrows his eyes at Dean, then glances around, distracted. “Dunno, trees? swamp? It’s all the same to me, Dean. Just miles and miles of wet and stink.”

“Huh.”

Benny turns more fully towards him. “Huh what?”

“I’m just thinking.”

The vampire snorts. “Oh yeah?”

Dean shoves him. “Shut it.” He shakes his head. “Because I see a forest, beech and oak and shit. Like the midwest.”

Benny lets out a long breath. “So it ain’t the same thing for the two of us, is it?”

“Nope.”

“Hm.” Benny’s quiet a moment. “I wonder what your angel sees.”

Dean swallows, grinds his teeth. “Come on,” he says abruptly. “Light’s coming back on.” He starts down the hill, boots sliding on leaves.

There’s a huff of laughter behind him and he can feel Benny’s smile aimed at his back. “You’re a little touchy there, Dean,” he says, voice full of humor. “Can’t wait to meet this pair of wings. He’s got you all wrapped up.”

Dean ignores him, walking faster and chopping through the brush with maybe a little more force than necessary. But he can’t quite move fast enough to escape Benny’s warm amusement. It presses against his back, melting his annoyance. 

By the time they hit their next break (about two albums worth of time later) he’s almost smiling. And it’s not the smile he’s used to, that harsh thing he shows to monsters he’s got under his knife. No, this is a smile that’s rusty and uneven on his face, but real.

***

Cas isn’t the easiest guy to find. Somehow Dean might’ve forgotten that, along the way.

His prayers go unanswered, the information they get from the monsters they find is shaky at best, contradictory at worst, and there are days he starts to wonder if Cas even _wants_ to be found.

But still, every time they stop, he pulls away from Benny with a look and stalks into the woods.

The first few times, Benny tries to argue, tries to find out what exactly Dean does out there. But after a while he just shrugs and says, “Watch your back.”

When he’d first lost Cas out here, Dean had prayed. He’d prayed _constantly_ , cajoling, wheedling, bargaining, _begging_ Cas to come back. When that hadn’t worked, he thought maybe Cas couldn’t find him. He’d sent mental pictures of where he was, focusing hard on Cas, hoping that somehow they’d get through.

But maybe prayer didn’t even work in Purgatory, he thought every time his prayers went unanswered. Maybe you gotta be on Earth. Where do you even _look_ to pray in Purgatory? Is Heaven still up?

He got angry, next. He railed at Cas for disappearing, for leaving him there, for probably getting himself fucking killed again or some shit. 

That didn’t work either.

His prayers got more casual, eventually, conversational, but he could feel the desperation behind them. He ended every one with _I’m coming, Cas. I’m coming to find you. I’m coming to take you home._

He wasn’t sure if he hoped Cas could hear and didn’t respond, or that Cas couldn’t hear him at all. The thought that Cas was just ignoring him was painful, but the idea of being cut off? Maybe that was even worse.

***

It gets cold, as he starts to doubt. Colder than he’s felt before. He feels it settling in, nestling by his heart, whispering to him that he’s _alone, that he’ll never find Cas, that everyone leaves him in the end._  

Purgatory’s never been comfortable. There’s always rain, or wind, or sleet or even snow, but it’s never clear and it’s never warm. Dean’s not sure if it’s some sort of fucked up astral winter or what, but suddenly his jacket’s not enough to keep him from shivering constantly.

Benny watches him, brows drawn together. A few times he opens his mouth, starts to shrug off his coat, but thinks better of it. 

But the temperature just keeps on dropping. Dropping, and dropping, until Dean’s hands are blocks of ice and his sweat freezes on his skin. Until his sentences start slurring at the edges and his feet slip on leaves. That’s when Benny takes him by the elbow and pulls him aside into a grove of trees and leans him back against one before yanking off his own jacket and draping it over Dean’s shoulders. Dean watches him blearily, head dropping back against the trunk.

“Why you gotta be so stubborn?” says Benny, crouching in front of him. “You can’t afford this bull here, you know that.” He shakes his head. “You’re my ticket outta here, Dean. And I’m yours. We gotta take care of each other.” He stands, glancing around, then reaches down and pulls him up, slinging Dean’s arm across his shoulders and steadying nearly all of Dean’s weight with an arm around his waist. Dean’s pressed in close, the heat from Benny’s body almost burning hot through the two jackets, and he can’t help but lean even closer when Benny starts marching them towards a split in the rock wall beyond the trees.

He ducks inside, manhandling Dean with him, and Dean just lets himself be dragged and positioned against the wall. Benny fusses and tucks the edges of his jacket around Dean before sitting beside him and wrapping his arm around him.

It’s not enough. Dean’s still shivering violently, the cold of the stone seeping through fabric and leather, and after a few minutes Benny curses and gets to his knees.

If Dean were a little more conscious, there’d be a joke in there somewhere about knees and teeth. But he can’t quite get the words out right.

Benny’s hands rest on his shoulders and lean him forward, then a wide swath of warmth slips between Dean’s back and the cold rocks. Arms come up around his waist, hot and solid, and warm breath ghosts along his jaw. He can’t help but let out a breath that’s almost a moan.

Benny chuckles as Dean’s shivers slow. “That better?”

Dean nods, tensing and starting to pull away.

“Now hold up.” Benny holds him in place and Dean falls back against him. “You just relax a few minutes, all right? Should warm up again soon, then we can start the hunt again.”

Dean wants to argue. He wants to pull away, not to bury himself deeper in the warm voice and warmer arms. But it’s been so long since he was comfortable and felt even close to safe. _If he kills me,_ he thinks, _least I’ll die warm._

There’s a huff of laughter behind him and Benny shifts, tucking Dean closer between his thighs. “Don’t worry, brother. I’m hungry, but I ain’t a dick.” He leans closer, lips brushing the shell of Dean’s ear. “If I were gonna try and eat you, you’d know.”

Dean shivers, and this time it’s not from the cold.

***

Something shifts between them then. They’re not just reluctant allies, at arms’ length. Dean doesn’t quite want to call it _friendship_ , but– there’s really not another word he can find.

They get each other. In a way that Sam doesn’t, that Cas doesn’t, that Lisa and Cassie and all of them most certainly didn’t.

They move together, in sync, backs to each other as attackers circle. Benny’s whistle grounds Dean, centers him on the fight and on the _right now_. And his smile, his hand on the shoulder, his laugh– they bring him out of it, bring him back to the world and out of the place he goes when he fights or breaks or chases something.

Benny’s control is iron. Even when Dean’s bleeding, even when even he can smell the blood in the air, Benny’s a gentleman. He steps back, moves away, takes deep breaths upwind, but he never breaks, never charges at Dean or even looks at the wound.

And when Benny’s hurt, when he bleeds sluggishly with blood he can’t afford to lose, Dean wraps bandages around him, torn from the clothes of the cleanest dead thing they can find.

But most of the time it’s just– easy. Dean knew he was lonely, before. He was losing his shit with it, going feral or crazy or something. Now he’s got an anchor, got something to hold on to that’s not just the dream of Cas somewhere out there, waiting for him.

So when they’re huddled together for another cold spell, it’s the easiest thing in the world to reach over and rest a hand on Benny’s thigh.

The muscles clench under him palm, shifting and hardening as Benny freezes beside him, then very deliberately relaxes. “Hey, there,” he says, voice quiet.

“Hey,” replies Dean, hand sliding upwards just the smallest amount.

Benny’s eyes meet his for a long moment, then crinkle in a smile.

There’s nothing else that needs to be said.

Dean likes that about Benny.

***

They get their first real, solid clue from something they catch in a tree.

It’s pale, scaly, and terrified, but Dean’s running on pure adrenaline when he slams it against a tree trunk, blade to its throat. 

Benny’s got the good sense to hang back, just close enough to help out if necessary but far enough away that Dean’s got space.

It trembles, eyes streaking from side to side as it searches for an escape, but Dean’s smiling face is everywhere it looks.

They’ve been moving a while, now, tracking this; they’d gotten a tip a while back about Cas heading this way, and this is the first thing they’ve seen in what seems like weeks. Dean’s on the edge of something, the demon-feeling inside him floating close to the top, and he bleeds it out slowly into a razor-sharp smile.

The thing babbles about a stream, and a clearing, but all Dean can hear is _Cas is here. Cas is close._

“You know what,” he asks, smile wide and toothy. “I believe you.” 

Hope flares in its eyes, sharp and painfully bright, and it burns something in Dean. His smile widens, cruel, and he leans closer, blade scraping against grey scales.

“Dean,” says a quiet voice, and he blinks once, twice, and draws back. The creature scrambles to its feet and stumbles backwards, disappearing into the brush.

Benny’s body heat is right behind him and he breathes in deep, feeling the darkness inside him subside, feeling his control return.

He turns, meeting Benny’s level gaze with his own, heart pounding in his throat. Benny is silent, but his hand reaches up, pulls him in by the back of the neck until their foreheads are nearly touching.

“How about you and me take a break. Seems like you’re a little on edge, there, friend,” he says, and Dean nods, focusing on Benny’s voice instead of the roaring in his ears.

The trees around them are rustling, eager-sounding, and Dean thinks he sees them reaching out for him with long, slender fingers, creeping closer and closer until they can suck what’s left of his humanity from his flesh and his bones. It’s darker, too, the rustling louder than ever before.

But Benny’s hands are firm and warm and solid against him and he lets them become the only thing he feels, leading him back to himself and easing him down to the ground.

“You can’t let this place change you into one of us,” Benny says quietly. “You’re still human, Dean. You gotta hold on. Purgatory doesn’t wanna let you go, but it knows you won’t belong until you lose yourself to it.”

“I thought being human meant I can’t stay here. Isn’t that the whole point of your back door?”

Benny snorts. “Human’s not permanent. You change Purgatory, yeah. But Purgatory changes you right back.”

“What do you mean?” Dean’s focused now, with a problem to deal with. 

“I mean, you gotta watch out, that’s all. Gotta make sure you hold on to yourself.” A sad smile spreads on his face. “You ain’t exactly the first human to land yourself here, you know.”

Dean blinks. “No?”

“No. We get a couple, every few hundred years, or so I hear. But they’re killed or–” he sighs. “or they change into something else.” He stares at Dean. “You feel it. I know you do. When you lose your compassion, your empathy and all that, that’s when it starts.” He stands from his crouch, holding a hand out to Dean. “Come on. Let’s find some shelter,  get some rest.”

Dean nods and wraps his fingers around Benny’s and lets himself get pulled to his feet.

 _Lessons in humanity from a fuckin’ vamp,_ he thinks as Benny’s fingers drift over his wrist. _Pretty damn ironic._

***

Dean’s always needed touch.

It’s something he tries to hide, push down deep and ignore, but he’s never been quite able to escape it.

Sammy’s a hugger. Dean teases him about it, calls him a girl and a sap and a nerd, but he’d give just about anything right now for the feel of his brother’s ridiculously long arms around his shoulders.

He thought he was gonna go nuts, before he found Benny, alone with just his skin and his mind.

But Benny gets it, he’s pretty sure. They don’t talk about it, but sometimes he’ll be crawling out of his skin and Benny’s knuckles will brush along his wrist, or his fingers against the small of Dean’s back, and Dean will be calm enough to carry on.

It’s addicting, those touches. The more he gets, the more he wants. And when he gets more– well, he can almost forget he’s in Purgatory with a vampire, far from home and Sam and Cas. Benny’s something else altogether, and Dean’s pretty sure he’s never been more _present_ for sex.

He’s pressed against a tree trunk, bark scraping against his back, Benny’s face pressed into his neck.

The first time that’d happened, he’d flipped out, pushed him away. _What the fuck, Benny!_ He’d yelled. _You gonna fucking bite me?_

Benny’d stepped back, eyes dark, and grinned. _Only if you ask nice, sugar._ His teeth had been human, white and square, his cheeks flushed dark above his beard. And, God help him, Dean trusted the bastard. And really fucking wanted him, too, which made it easier to step forward and slide his hands up the sides of Benny’s hips and draw him back in.

But today he’s not worried, not anymore. Somehow this _monster,_ this _vampire_ , might be more human than Dean himself.

Dean remembers the hunger of being turned. It’s worse, much worse, than any hunger he’s ever felt as a human. It gives him a jolt of fire in his belly to know that Benny’s smelling him, tasting his skin, feeling that hunger but resisting it, because of _Dean._ Because he wants Dean alive, healthy, and maybe even happy, whatever the fuck that is.

Dean’s hands slide under Benny’s shirt to palm warm flesh at his back, feeling hard muscle and smooth skin peppered with scars. He drags his hands up, then down, shuddering as Benny’s thick fingers slip down the waistband of his jeans, looser now from who knows how long wearing them out in this place, and brush against his ass. Dean presses back into those hands, gasping into Benny’s jawline and rubbing his cheek against Benny’s beard. 

This is easy, so easy, he thinks, warmth blossoming in his chest and a smile curling across his lips. It’s a genuine one this time, not the twisted glee of power and control but the genuine pleasure of companionship and touch. He turns his head, presses his lips to Benny’s and curls his fingers into Benny’s skin. Benny lets out a shuddering breath and unbuttons Dean’s jeans one handed, then lifts him effortlessly and slams Dean’s back against the tree, legs wrapping around Benny’s waist.

Dean grabs the back of Benny’s head, twining his legs tighter around the other man, and lets his teeth rasp over Benny’s bottom lip. He’s careful not to break the skin, despite his need to taste and touch, and soothes the nip with a swipe of his tongue. Benny’s fingers tighten on his ass and his neck and he grinds his hips slowly, deliberately against Dean’s groin. 

Dean’s head drops back against the tree as pleasure rushes through him and he thrusts forward, chasing the pressure and friction. Benny lets out a deep chuckle against Dean’s lips and does it again, squeezing Dean’s ass as he pulls them together, then lowers Dean’s legs back down and slips his suspenders off his shoulder then pulls his shirt off, tossing it aside. Dean follows suit, eyes roving over Benny’s bare chest and hands reaching for the button on his pants. His hands skim over Benny’s stomach, broad and muscled and firm under a comfortable layer of soft flesh, and Benny shivers with the touch.

Button handled, Dean shoves Benny’s trousers to the ground and slides a hand inside Benny’s rough cotton boxers. Benny’s hand falters where it’s shoving at Dean’s jeans when Dean’s hand curls around his cock.

It’s thick, hot, damp at the tip and Dean can’t help dropping to his knees, leaning forward and mouthing at it, running his lips up one side and swirling his tongue over the head, and he grins when he feels Benny’s knees shake and hears a muffled curse above him. He curls his hands around the other man’s hips, running his fingers over the crease between thigh and ass. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Benny’s arm come forward and his hand clench at the tree behind Dean. He’s leaning over him, eyes fixed on his face, and Dean looks up through his lashes, lips curving around the head of Benny’s cock as he slides down, down down until his nose is buried in thick hair.

“ _Fuck,_ sweetheart,” Benny moans, voice impossibly deep and thick with restraint. “That mouth of yours could drive a man to the edge of his rope.” 

Dean hums a response and bark pieces rain down around him from Benny’s hand digging into the wood.

“Brother, you better stop that, ‘fore you get me too excited to stop,” says Benny, voice strangled as his hips tremble. “I dunno about you, but I’m hopin’ to get a little more down and dirty with you tonight.”

Dean nods, reluctantly pulling off, and Benny pulls him upright and kisses him fiercely, licking the taste of himself from Dean’s mouth. Dean thrusts against him, their cocks nestled together and sliding in sweat and precome. It sweeps him away, the feeling rushing through him. He’s always liked being manhandled more than he’d like to admit, and Benny’s supernatural strength makes him want to let Benny do all sorts of things to him.

 _“Fuck,_ ” he says hoarsely as Benny licks at his neck, just above his pulse point. Benny’s shaking, hands grasping at Dean’s hips until Dean’s sure there’ll be bruises tomorrow, and Dean pulls at him until they’re turned and he’s no longer pressed against the tree. He yanks him down, down, until he’s flat on his back with two hundred pounds of Cajun vamp holding him to the forest floor.

Benny ruts against him, breathing Dean’s scent in deeply at his neck, and Dean thrusts in counterpoint, losing himself in sensation and in the moment and in _Benny_.

 _Wish we’d met topside,_ he thinks distantly, giddily, _Jesus Christ I want him to fuck me on a bed, with real lube and maybe some toys and shit._

Benny’s huffing, second teeth glinting just a little out of his gums, and Dean’s hands grip harder on Benny’s firm ass, spreading the cheeks and driving him harder against Dean’s body.

It’s slick and it’s hot and it’s _perfect_ and Dean can’t hold out any longer, coming in between their bodies with a long groan. Benny shudders at the sudden slickness, then shatters, head falling onto Dean’s shoulder as his whole body tenses, then releases with a deep, shaky moan and a flood of wetness to join Dean’s. 

They stay there a few minutes, breathing hard and running careful hands across each other’s bodies, before Benny lifts his head and smiles with a twinkle in his eye. “You’re somethin’ else, Dean,” he says, rising up on an elbow and kissing Dean firmly. “Let’s find someplace to bunk down till it’s lighter.” He stands with a groan, pulling on his discarded clothes and giving Dean a hand up.

Dean takes it, standing with a groan, and keeps a grip on Benny’s hand just a little longer than necessary, stepping close enough to feel Benny’s breaths. Benny’s face softens and he reaches up, cupping Dean’s face in his hand.

“You’re pretty awesome, too,” says Dean, squeezing his hand, before pulling away to find his own clothes.

The hot buzz in his veins sticks around as they settle into a cave for the night, and when Benny sits down a little closer than usual to keep watch, Dean just grins and pillows his head on Benny’s thigh. He closes his eyes and shifts till he’s comfortable, then dozes off, safe and warm.

***

When Dean wakes, it’s to fingers carding through his hair slowly and gently. He rubs up into the touch, eyes still closed, and frowns when they pull away.

“Up and at ‘em, Dean,” Benny says, pushing at Dean’s shoulder. “Today’s the day we find your angel.”

Adrenaline floods Dean’s veins and he sits up, rolling to his feet and straightening his jacket around him. “Yeah. Yeah. Okay.”

Benny sighs and stands slowly, wincing and stretching. “Hate it when you do that.”

“Do what?”

“You do this thing–” he gestures vaguely at Dean’s head. “This thing where you close off your face when I talk about your bird.”

“He’s an angel, Benny. And he ain’t _mine._ ” Dean pushes past him to the mouth of the cave. It’s almost _bright_ outside, the light harsh and glaring and coming through the leaves in broken shards. He can almost feel Benny rolling his eyes behind him as he stalks through the forest, but the vampire follows him after a moment and doesn’t try to continue the conversation for a while.

“How’d you lose him, anyway?” He asks, finally. 

Dean sighs. He knows Benny well enough by now to know that while he’s a respectful guy, generally, he can’t resist a secret. “Just did.”

Benny’s right beside him now, the trail wide enough for them to walk two abreast. “Seriously. How the hell d’you lose an angel? Pretty hard to miss, I hear.”

Deen sighs, shaking his head. “We landed here, there were these things, they attacked us. Then Cas was gone.” He pushes aside a branch a little harder than necessary and can’t help a smirk when it whips back to hit Benny in the chest. “That’s all I got.”

“Was there blood or guts or a trail or something?”

“Nope. Just gone.” Dean speeds up. “And I gotta find him, man.”

“Why’s that?”

Dean stops, turns. “I just do, all right? Dude’s my friend. He’s saved my life. Dragged me from Hell, literally. So I just do.” He starts off again, stomping through the brush. “So drop it. It’s not negotiable.”

Benny shrugs and follows.

***

If things with Benny are effortless and easy, then things with Cas are the opposite. From the moment he sees the hunched figure at the water, Dean’s in knots in the places he’d been relaxed and he’s stretched out where he’d been curled up and hiding.

He steps forward, faltering, not sure what to feel or what to do. He calls Cas’s name out without even meaning to, like it’s the only word in the universe. He pulls him into his arms, holding him close, burying his face in Cas’s neck and letting out a half-laugh, half-sob that threatens to break down the dam holding back all the emotions he thought he left on Earth.

When Cas responds, when he doesn’t come forward, when he stays stiff and unyielding in Dean’s embrace and dodges his gaze–there’s a panic growing in Dean’s belly. He brushes a hand over Cas’s cheek, makes a joke he doesn’t even remember a second later, and steps back.

 _Cas is weird_ , he thinks desperately. _Dude’s always been weird._

Benny steps up closer behind him, unheard, and he’s a calming presence at Dean’s back.

There’s never been anything simple with Cas.

He looks good, though. Focused, functional, without the drifting or the wide eyes of his mental patient days, or the burning intensity of his brief stint as God. No, this Cas is level, cautious, and reading to flee at any moment.

It’s Benny who asks the question Dean doesn’t want to get answered.

“Why’d you bail on Dean?” he says, eyes narrowed.

“Dude–”

“The way I hear it, you two hit monster-land and hot wings here took off. I figure he owes you some backstory.”

Dean tries to push past it, cutting Benny off, trying to give Cas an out, but Cas won’t take it.

“I ran away.”

It’s like he’s been kicked in the chest. “You _ran away?_ ”

“I had to.”

“That’s your excuse for leaving me with those gorilla-wolves?”

He feels Benny come closer, feels him evaluate the threat Cas presents and get ready to step between them, to attack, but Dean wills him back.

He cracks, yells. Cas knew he was there, knew he was in danger, heard his prayers and, what, ignored them? Benny’s disdain is like a wave behind him, crashing down over Cas. Even worse is Dean’s knowledge that he wasn’t enough. That this time, it was too much. That this time, Cas didn’t think he was worth it.

And then–

“I’ve been trying to stay one step ahead of them, to–” Cas’s eyes are wet, intense, boring into Dean– “to keep them away from you.”

Dean stumbles, all the anger that had been building melting away in an instant.

“Just– leave me, please.”

“Sounds like a plan. Let’s roll,” says Benny, and Dean shakes his head.

“Just- hold on. Hold on.” He turns to the angel, who’s staring out at the empty wilderness and avoiding Dean’s gaze. “Cas– we’re getting out of here. We’re going home.”

“Dean, I can’t.” Cas still won’t look at him, and Dean steps closer.

“You _can_. Benny, tell him.”

“Purgatory’s got an escape hatch. But I got no idea if it’s angel-friendly.” Benny’s hackles are still up, Dean can tell. He should go to him reassure him, _something_ , but he can’t look away from Castiel.

“We’ll figure it out. Cas, buddy–” He swallows when Cas’s eyes finally raise to meet his own. “I need you.” There’s a whole book of emotion in those three words, and the resistance in Cas’s eyes melts into something else, something broken and desperate and focused on Dean.

“And if Leviathan want to take a shot at us, let ‘em. We ganked those bitches before, we can do it again.” 

“It’s too dangerous.” Cas is wavering.

“Lemme bottom line it for you. I’m not leaving here without you. Understand?” Dean holds Cas’s gaze. 

“I understand.”

“Good.”

The silence stretches, eyes fixed on each other’s, until Benny’s drawl snaps Dean from the moment. “I hate to break up this touching moment, friends, but there’s something headed this way.”

Dean’s head whips around. There’s a rustling in the trees that’s more than just wind. He’s about to start down the beach when a hand grabs his wrist.

“Not that way.” Cas lets go and starts towards what looks like a solid line of trees and brambles, walking purposefully and quickly. Dean follows. Behind him there’s a long, deep sigh, then Benny’s footsteps close on his heels. 

“I hope you know what you’re doing, trusting this one,” says Benny as Cas reaches the treeline. 

_So do I._

***

It’s getting dark again by the time Cas slows. There’s a tiny, winding path that’s nearly invisible from the beach that Cas has followed unerringly for what feels like miles and hours. Dean follows, Benny right behind him, in silence through the trees.

“Here,” says Cas, stopping so abruptly that Dean crashes into him from behind and keeps himself from falling with a hand on Cas’s elbow. He pulls away quickly, stepping back, but Cas’s eyes follow his movements for a long moment before turning and brushing branches aside until a hollow in the largest tree is revealed. Beyond the narrow opening it’s circular, nearly seven feet in diameter, and looks like it’s been carved out with some kind of crude tool many years before. “Get inside.”

Dean obeys, crouching in the doorway and shuffling into the hollow. He can feel the tension behind him as Benny follows, then Cas.

“We can wait out the dark period here,” Cas continues, settling cross-legged a few feet from Dean, watching him closely. “I will watch over you.”

The words are familiar, so much so that Dean feels a lump in his throat as he watches Cas.

“Well.” Benny shifts, about to stand. “Guess three’s a crowd, huh.” 

It’s amazing how much information Cas can get from a single glance from Dean. “Wait.” Cas turns his gaze on Benny. “If Dean trusts you, you are welcome to stay.”

“Hm.” Benny settles back down, eyes flicking from one of them to the other, lingering on Dean. “Wake me for the next watch,” is all he says, settling down with his hands over his chest, knees drawn up and his eyes closed.

“Dean, you should rest,” Cas says once Benny’s settled.

There’s a lot Dean wants to say, a lot he _needs_ to say, but right now, he can’t quite remember any of it. So he lies down between them and closes his eyes.

He almost wakes once during the night, to sounds of murmured voices, but a hand brushes over his hair and someone whispers, _Sleep, Dean._ while another hand tugs something warm and heavy over his shoulders before resting there, soothing him back to sleep with slow strokes.

***

It’s an uneasy truce, the three of them, with Dean between. It reminds him a little of Sam and John, the last few years the three of them had together before Stanford. And he’s sure there’s a joke in there somewhere, with an angel and a human and a vampire, but he can’t quite find it funny.

Cas and Benny come to a sort of understanding, one he’s not privy to, and it’s a niggling annoyance at the back of his mind. But they fight well together, all three, and they watch each others’ backs.

Sometimes he catches them both watching him, though, or watching each other warily. Neither of them need to rest as often or as long as he does, and Benny only sleeps when absolutely necessary. Cas never sleeps, preferring to sit and keep watch for hours, sitting close to Dean, his back to him, staring into the forest.

They’re making progress, now, towards this mysterious portal. Despite the awkwardness and the strain, and the constant battle, Dean’s almost... content. He cares for these two men, cares for them _deeply_. He knows Sam’s safe topside, no Leviathans on him, and no angels either. He doesn’t have to worry, not more than he would any other day, anyway.

But they’ve got a long way to go, according to Benny’s directions, and he’s getting fed up with the silence between his two companions. He’s not sure if it’s better or worse than the snippy remarks they started with, but he’s not a fan of either.

He’s not sure what to say, though. How do you break the ice between someone who’s seen your soul and someone who’s seen you naked? He’s got no idea where to even start. 

Benny scouts ahead, a few hours down the road, and Cas stops him with a hand around his shoulder. “Dean.”

Dean stops, turning towards him, and meets Cas’s sharp gaze with one of his own. “What. You tired of glaring?”

Cas narrows his eyes. “How well do you know Benny?” He asks, right to the point.

“He saved my life, Cas. More than once. And yours, too. That’s enough for me.”

“He’s a vampire.”

Dean snorts. “Uh, thanks, Cas, I noticed. And I’m still gonna trust him.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t listen to you when it comes to who I should trust,” Dean snaps.

Cas pales, steps back once, then again, and turns down the trail. He walks carefully, steadily, but Dean’s frozen in place by the hurt that’d been in Cas’s eyes.

“Don’t tell me there’s trouble in paradise,” says a voice behind him and Dean clenches his jaw as his Purgatory self grates against his topside one and everything’s in double vision for a minute before it all coalesces back into Benny’s face.

“Leave it, Benny,” he says, pushing past him and starting to stalk after Cas, But Benny doesn’t let him by. 

“You gotta give me something, here, brother.” His hand reaches out and curls around Dean’s wrist. “I’m risking my hide for your birdy.”

Dean sighs, the fight draining out of him. “He’s– he’s my friend, Benny.”

“Way I see it, a friend’s someone who doesn’t leave you in the lurch.”

“You know that’s not what happened.”

“So he says. All I’m seeing is him movin’, you behind, and I’m dragged along in the wake of whatever you two got goin’ on.”

“You’re the one with the plan,” Dean replies. “We’re following you, remember?” He turns his hand in Benny’s grip until his palm brushes Benny’s pulse point. “And I wouldn’t have made it this far without either one of you.”

Benny snorts, but rubs his thumb against Dean’s wrist. “All I got’s your word on that, Dean.”

“Can that be enough, right now?” asks Dean, eyes fixed on Benny’s. 

Benny leans in suddenly, palm sliding from Dean’s grip and sliding up to the back of his neck, squeezing almost painfully before tearing his gaze away and turning. “Wind’s picking up. We best get down in the valley before it gets too cold.”

Dean watches him walk forward, then rubs a hand over his face. _Nothing is ever easy for long._

***

It’s a shtriga that gets him, a long slash across his ribs while Benny’s facing down a werewolf and Cas is trapped under some kind of harpy-thing.

He yells in pain, slicing up with his axe, and it falls back, headless, as he gasps for breath.

“Dean!” Cas reaches him first, Benny on his heels. He slides to his knees beside him, pulling his shirt and jacket up and aside and brushes a hand along his seeping gash.

Benny holds back, eyes fixed on Dean’s face and jaw and fists tightly clenched. He glances down, then drags his eyes back up, trying to ignore the smell and sight of Dean’s blood.

Cas is hunched over him, brows drawn together, sweat beading on his neck and rolling down. Dean lies still, woozy with blood loss, and stares up into Cas’s dirty, scruffy face. _I missed you_ , he thinks. _I need you to stay._

He must have said it out loud, because Cas’s teeth clench and there’s a sheen to his eyes as he presses a hand over the wound. “I’m here now, Dean. Hold still.”

Light trickles, warm and bright under Cas’s hand, and the pain subsides to an ache, then an itch, then a warm buzz that spreads through his body until he’s relaxed and perfectly comfortable for a single moment.

It’s nothing like the instant healing he’s used to from angels, from Cas. It’s slower, deeper, rushing through him in a wave and he can’t tear his eyes from Cas’s face. There’s something deeply personal, cutting through all the bullshit and the oily layer of fear and pain that’s coated him in the weeks or months or years he’s been here. His hand comes up, curves around Cas’s elbow, and holds him in place as the grace dissipates, until all he feels is a calmness settling deep in his bones. “Cas–” he gasps, curling towards the angel. He’s not sure what he wants, what to do, but he _needs_ Cas, needs to be closer, needs Cas against him where he can’t escape, can’t _leave._ He pulls him down, hands coming up to brush the stupid fucking scruff all along Cas’s jaw.

Cas’s eyes are wide now, watching him. his hands haven’t moved from Dean’s bare side, but they’re shaking now, twitching against Dean’s skin and sending shocks of sensation up his spine and down through his belly. He bends down slowly, so slowly, and rests his lips against Dean’s.

Dean’s fingers tighten and he lifts up, kissing him firmly, warmly, trying to shove all the prayers and desperation and hope into one press of lips, before pulling back and dragging Cas’s head down until their foreheads touch and their eyes bore into each other.

He’s not sure how long they stay like that, whether it’s seconds or minutes or hours, but there’s a crackle from the brambles and Cas’s jaw twitches and his eyes slam shut. He pulls away and up, saying, “We should move on. My grace is a beacon for everything we’re trying to avoid.” He gives Dean one last glance, not quite meeting his eyes, and stuffs his hands in the pockets of his coat.

A hand reaches down towards him and Dean grabs it, letting Benny lever him to his feet. The vampire’s more relaxed now that the blood’s dried up and no longer soaking through Dean’s clothes, but his face is tight, expressionless. He meets Dean’s eyes, then glances down the path towards Cas’s retreating back.

“Neat trick your angel’s got,” is all he says, releasing Dean’s hand and following Cas. “Come on.”

***

It’s not until they rest for the night that Dean finally can’t take it anymore. He knew he wouldn’t last, that he couldn’t put if off forever. They’re huddled around a small, smokey fire Cas started with his angel blade on Dean’s axe, and Dean’s between the two of them trying to ignore the tension and get some rest. He’s on his back, stretched out with his jacket tucked tight over him and his arms crossed over his chest. Cas crouches by his feet, staring into the fire, while Benny’s sitting with his back to a tree and his legs crossed in front of him by Dean’s head. He’s watching Cas.

It strikes Dean suddenly just how little the two of them know each other. Sure, he knows Cas. He’s known him for years, through deaths and resurrections, shifting loyalties and betrayals, tough times and better ones. And what he’s shared with Benny since they found each other here, well, he thinks he’s got a pretty good handle on him, too.

But Benny’s right. All he knows about Cas is what he’s seen in Purgatory. Dean didn’t talk about Cas. Not beyond interrogations and directions and the bare minimum needed to identify him.

And Cas? For all his mistakes and misjudgements, he’s got no reason to trust Benny. Just Dean’s word, and that means fuck-all these days. Dean shudders as he suddenly remembers Cas’s face in the glow of holy fire. _It’s not like I’ve been the poster boy for good friend, either_.

He pulls himself upright until he’s sitting, arms around his knees, and glances from one of them to the other. 

“Look. We’re stuck here together, and we need each other to get out.”

From their matching looks, Dean’s pretty sure they’re both disagreeing already. He sighs. “Fine. _I_ need you both to get out. And we are _all_ gonna get out.”

They exchange a look at this, something he can’t quite understand.

“What’s going on, Dean,” asks Benny, voice flat.

Dean sighs. “You’re both my friends. And all we’ve got in here is each other. So I’m just trying to get you to cut down on the death-ray stares. Is that cool with you two?”

This time both their faces register confusion tinged with annoyance and Dean shakes his head at the sky. “I mean I need you to get along. Work together. Stay away from each others’ throats.”

“We have an arrangement,” says Cas, and Benny nods, holding the angel's gaze. Something passes between them, something Dean can't really parse, but they both glance to him, then away. 

“An arrangement?”

“Yup.” Benny leans forward, eyes fixed on the fire.

Dean’s about to respond when there’s a screech and crash and suddenly there are large, leathery wings _everywhere._

Cas leaps up in an instant, Benny just a hair behind him and Dean backing them both up. Watching the two of them fight’s like a really fucking manly ballet or something; Cas spins, slashes, all economical, fast movement without an ounce of wasted energy while Benny’s slow, calm and deadly, swinging his weapon in broad strokes and gliding from one move to the next. Dean hacks and chops at the creatures in his own human way, just muscle memory building the strokes of his blade into a dance that fills the clearing with sticky black blood. There’s a moment when the three of them find themselves back to back to back, slicing their way through putrid flesh and cutting beaks, and somehow it’s clean, it’s _pure_ , it’s poetry with a razor edge that’s slicing through all the bullshit Dean’s been bogged down in since he found Cas by that river.

 _This we’re good at,_ he thinks. _The three of us, moving together, no plan, no thought, just in sync._

He catches Benny’s eye as he chops through a thick, snake-like neck, and the vampire’s lips curl in the slightest smile. _That’s what I like about Benny,_ he thinks as Cas’s free hand brushes his side as they crowd in together. _He doesn’t need words to know what I’m thinking._

The last beast falls to the ground with a meaty _thunk_ and there’s a silent moment, broken only by their harsh breaths.

Dean’s not sure who moves first, but Benny’s mouth is on his and his hands are sliding across his sides to splay across his back while Dean yanks at Benny’s shirt. There’s a hiss of indrawn breath from behind them and Dean pulls back a bare inch, meeting Benny’s eyes and raising an eyebrow. Benny nods, slight smile on his face, and Dean reaches out a hand and pulls at Cas’s sleeve.

“Come on, Cas,” he says. _I need you,_ he doesn’t say, but he’s pretty sure Cas hears it anyway. He steps forward, careful, hesitant, and Dean tugs him closer, closer, until Dean’s bracketed between the other two men. Cas meets his gaze, eyes wide and shocked and pupils dilated until they’re nearly obliterating the blue of his iris, and Dean leans in, kissing him for the second time.

Cas melts into it after a frozen moment, knees shaking, before his hands come up and clutch at Dean’s shoulders. Benny slips behind Dean, grinding slow and easy against him and mouthing at his neck.

Dean can feel Cas’s arousal against his own, and Benny’s rock-hard behind him ( _although,_ thinks Dean, _I’d be too in his shoes, watching Cas and me_ ). He reaches back and palms Benny’s ass, pulling him closer in, and Benny chuckles. “Eager beaver we got here, Cas.”

Cas pulls away just enough to say, “I don’t believe that’s a complaint,” his voice impossibly low and almost a growl, before pressing slow kisses and short licks down the neglected side of Dean’s neck.

Dean’s hand hits another set of fingers as it reaches behind him to explore the parts of Benny usually covered by clothing, and he lets out a broken moan. It’s _Cas,_ touching Benny and Dean together, and suddenly, Dean needs more.

He shoves Cas’s coat off his shoulders before shucking his own, then turns and yanks Benny’s shirt and jacket off in one smooth movement. He’s suddenly grateful for the first time for the scrubs Cas is wearing, because there are no ties or buttons or undershirts, just one piece of fabric and then acres of bare flesh to explore. 

Four hands find their way to his own clothing, stripping him of his coat and his shirts and tugging open the buttons of his fly. He can’t tear his eyes away from the fingers working them down over his hips. They’re Cas’s, mostly, and Benny’s got a thumb hooked in the side of the waistband. But he’s also got another hand that’s curled around them both running along the band of Cas’s scrubs, dipping deeper and deeper as the angel shudders and rests his forehead on Dean’s shoulder. 

He slides them down, down and off as Dean turns enough to push Benny's own trousers down his hips and to the ground. Dean's jeans have slid to his ankles and he steps out of them, toeing his boots off as well and steadying Cas as he does the same.

As soon as the three of them are all bare, Benny steps back a few inches, keeping his hands on the other two men. He sinks down and pulls them both along with him until he's leaning against a tree with Dean settled in his lap and Castiel straddling their hips. His hands stroke restlessly, possessively against Dean's sides and Cas's thighs as Cas kisses Dean and buries his hands in Dean's hair.

"That's it, angel," Benny says, voice warm and low, as he guides Cas's hips to slide against Dean's.

Dean groans at the sensation, surrounded, Cas's legs around him and Benny curled around him back, hips rolling in counterpoint to Cas's. Cas's chest is taut, muscles, nipples dark and pebbled. His eyes are wide as his mouth, shocked and dark above flushed cheeks. His lashes are long, longer than Dean imagined, and one hand is gently clasped around the back of Dean's neck, cradling his head like it's glass.

His other hand is clasped around Benny's hand where it’s resting on Cas's hip, clasped so tightly it's trembling, but Benny turns his hand to twine his fingers with Cas's. He's leading them here, the way he's leading them both across Purgatory and toward home, but it's Dean in the middle, pulling them in and together.

Benny thrusts up against him, cock sliding between Dean’s cheeks, and Dean groans and presses back as Cas shudders into the telegraphed movement.

“You both feel so good,” murmurs Benny, keeping one hand in Cas’s and sliding the other down until it’s curved around Cas’s ass, squeezing the firm muscle hard enough to bruise on a human.

Dean groans as the head of Benny’s cock catches on his rim and sends sparks of pleasure that’s on the edge of pain through him. It’s leaking, slippery with precome, and he’s suddenly overwhelmed with the need to be filled with it.

Cas shifts a little, just enough for Dean’s own cock to nestle behind Cas’s balls, and Dean’s hands clutch at him, drawing him closer as he’s overwhelmed with sensation on both sides.

“Dean, I–” Cas is panting, voice hoarser than usual, and he lets out a long moan as Dean rocks up and Cas’s cock drags along Dean’s belly. “I want–” His eyes are wide, shocked, and Dean leans in to kiss his full lower lip.

“What do you want, Cas?” asks Dean as he continues to roll his hips. Benny’s breath is a warm slide over the nape of his neck and Dean shivers as lips follow its path to rest behind his ear. “Tell me what you want.”

There’s a slight glow between Cas’s fingers, just the tiniest trickle of grace, and then his hand reaches down between them. They’re slick, glistening when the glow fades away, and they disappear between Cas’s legs. Dean’s eyes widen and Benny’s lips pull away as they both focus their attention on Cas’s fingers, two, then three, sliding in and out of his hole, scissoring and stretching as Cas pants and flushes, little moans escaping his mouth. 

“Damn,” whispers Benny, voice broken, “Angel, the things you can do to me.”

Dean can only whimper in agreement as Cas shuffles forward and grips Dean’s cock in one slick hand, the other reaching down to slide across Dean’s own hole.

Benny gets the idea more quickly than Dean, and his fingers slip over as well, circling the ring of muscle. 

Dean jerks, head dropping to Cas’s shoulders as one long finger slips into him, followed by another, thicker one. He mouths at Cas’s neck, licking at the sweat gathering there, and feels a jolt of precome spurt from his cock as he realizes the wet sounds he’s hearing are only partly from the fingers in his ass. The rest are from his angel and his vampire’s mouths where they’re pressed together.

Cas’s other hand curls around Dean’s cock, thumb spreading the slick fluid he’s created over the head, and he rises up on his knees then sinks down in one smooth movement, shuddering as Dean bottoms out in seconds. Benny chooses that moment to lift them both and fuck into Dean in one controlled slide, thick cock splitting Dean open and making him gasp.

It’s overwhelming, this feeling. He’s filled to the brim with Benny, enough to make him nearly black out with pleasure, but then Cas rocks forward, claiming his mouth, and Dean’s lips fall slack against his.

Benny sets the pace, rocking Dean forward while curling fingers around Cas’s knees and pulling him forward so Dean’s shuttled between fucked and fucking and all he can do is hold on to Cas’s shoulders and be tossed between them. He’s pretty sure he’s almost beyond orgasm, so overcome with sensation that he feels like he’s floating. There’s a deep heat churning in his belly and the two men around him are in such tight tandem that it’s almost as if it’s his own cock sliding into his ass and grinding over his prostate. There’s movement in his lap and hot trails of liquid and he glances down to see Benny’s hand wrapped around Cas’s, wrapped around the angel’s cock, and that’s it, the heat in his stomach bubbles over and he tenses, muscles all pulling tight as he comes _hard_ inside Cas.

Benny groans at the sensation of Dean’s clenching muscles and he thrusts once, twice, three times before stilling as well and Dean feels the warmth of Benny’s orgasm filling him until he’s stuffed, dripping and sated. He leans forward and pulls Cas in closer, his hand dropping down to join the other two on Cas’s cock, and he presses a kiss to Cas’s lips as all three of them stroke. His fingers brush the head and he slides his face forward further and whispers, “Come on, Cas, wanna see you come,” and Cas whimpers and shuts his eyes tightly and shoots over Dean’s fingers, pale blue light glistening from between his eyelashes as he whispers Dean’s name.

They stay like that, panting, for a moment, Benny’s big hands sweeping over them. Dean’s pretty sure he’d be content to stay like that forever, maybe, if it weren’t for the cramp he’s developing in his side and the quickly drying sticky patch on his hand and his stomach.

Benny’s nuzzling Dean’s neck, pressing his nose into Dean’s jawline and leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses as he moves. He’s still firmly seated in Dean, still hard, and he’s rocking just barely. It’s on the edge of painful, Dean’s so sensitive, but it’s somehow _awesome_. He leans his head back, twisting, and kisses Benny sloppily as the vampire stills.

Benny chuckles, but the sound doesn’t have its usual poise. “You two are somethin’ else,” Benny says as he pulls away. He’s got his arms around both their waists, hands running up and down Cas’s sides.

The angel lifts his head and leans forward, chin over Dean’s shoulder, and Benny meets him in a kiss as well. It’s deep and filthy, open mouthed, wet, and Dean’s pretty sure he’d be instantly hard again if he were ten years younger. Still, he’s content to watch.

“Hope this isn’t a one-time deal,” Dean murmurs, kissing the space behind Cas’s ear. “A guy could get used to something like this.”

Cas’s fingers trace Dean’s ribs carefully, almost reverently. “No, Dean.” He meets Benny’s eyes over Dean’s shoulder and gives a slight, almost _shy_ smile and Benny leans in, kisses him again, quickly. “This was–” he shakes his head, eyes satisfied, drowsy.

“Yeah,” says Dean. “I know.”

Cas is leaning forward, now, face buried in Dean’s neck and nuzzling along his jaw, and he grumbles a protest when Dean shifts.

“Shhh,” says Dean. “I gotta move. Not gonna go far, though.” He shifts Cas carefully off his lap just enough to slide out from between them and grab his discarded boxers and shirts. He grimaces down at himself, then shakes his head. _People always knock the layers,_ he thinks, as he wipes his stomach and hands off on the undershirt. _Fuckin’ useful._ He pulls on his boxers, henley and buttondown, then his jeans and boots, before glancing back at his two companions. 

Cas is curled in Benny’s lap, face pressed to Benny’s chest and mouth slightly open. He’s fast asleep, looks like, and Benny’s got his head tipped back against the tree and one hand buried in Cas’s hair.

Dean picks up Cas’s trenchcoat and drapes it over the both of them, tucking it around them carefully. Benny opens one eye and watches him, a smile on his face.

“What,” says Dean.

Benny shakes his head, smile widening, and settles back down to nap.

***

It’s Dean who sits up on watch this time, leaning back against a tree with his blade across his knees and his gaze sweeping the clearing for movement and threats. It’s silent, for once. Nothing’s rustling the leaves or crackling in the underbrush. The sky is dark, dark blue and the air is clear with just a hint of a glow.

Their tiny fire crackles, loud in the quiet, and Dean’s eyes are drawn to the two faces lit by the flickering light.

Benny’s stretched out on Dean’s left, hands clasped over his rising and falling chest. Dean can feel the warmth of his shoulder radiating through the air to his own thigh. He rests a hand on Benny’s shoulder and Benny shifts, pressing closer into Dean’s palm.

Dean smiles and glances the other way. Cas is on his right, curled on his side, facing him. His hands are tucked in, resting by his head, and his legs are pulled up until he’s nearly wrapped around Dean, knees slotted into the hollow under Dean’s folded legs and his head brushing Dean’s hip. His hair is flattened on one side, spiky on the other, and Dean can’t help but reach out and brush a hand through it. 

He’s not sure what’s going to happen. He’s not even sure whether Benny’s escape hatch exists, or if it’ll work. He knows the Leviathan are coming, that they’re drawn in by even the minuscule amount of Grace Cas expended. 

There’s still mistrust and danger and fear between them, still miles to travel and thousands of things to kill.

He should be worried, should be nervous and tense.

But somehow, at this very moment, flanked by these two men?

He’s good.

 


End file.
